


havelock done got sick

by inkyvoid (atramento)



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, I still haven't played this game ( o 3 o ), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Sick Character, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atramento/pseuds/inkyvoid
Summary: Something I wrote one lazy afternoon about a certain sick and stubborn old jackwagon. I guess it could count as family fluff? It's more father and son being grumpy dickheads to one another more than outright fluff though.
Kudos: 4





	havelock done got sick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nomlakie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomlakie/gifts).



It had been easier in the first littering of snow; only his old man was sick, and Amelia had enough energy for the three of them to take care of matters. Now though... she was sick too. Once she had started coughing violently, Jamie knew he would have to take over.

He was right. Amelia was with her parents again before long—she had insisted to ‘give Jamie a fighting chance’ against the illness. Perhaps she also knew that taking care of his own father would prove... difficult.

Farley Havelock was one stubborn old tack. He did not like to be coddled nor to coddle others. He was a simple man of hard work and few words, especially in his relatively advanced age.

This made taking care of him incredibly taxing, as Jamie knew from years of living with the crusty barnacle. Lying arms sprawled in the bed with his eyes closed did nothing to diminish the sense that this was not a pleasant experience for the admiral either.

“I brought soup.” Jamie decided it was worth disturbing the tense silence between the two of them now, in the afternoon. “It’s got chicken in it.” He set the bowl on the end table before opening the window blinds and letting dismal grey light into the room.

Havelock grunted and leaned up with a cough, taking his soup with one large hand and the spoon in the other. Both seemed comically small in his hands but the humor of it was largely lost on Jamie, who had the same build as his father.

Jamie opened his mouth before immediately closing it, half expecting Amelia to start speaking for him. He did not mind it mostly-- but it was strange when he kept his mouth closed and nobody’s voice perked up in wake of the silence.

“....Amelia had the recipe.” He added, sitting down in the chair perched against the wall. Havelock had been having trouble breathing lately so when he napped either Jamie or Amelia had been watching him to make sure the old man did not stop breathing mid nap. “She said I should make this the most often for you.”

Havelock did not look up from his food. “Whoop-dee-fuckin-do, do y’want a medal?” He growled after a measly bite.

There was a moment of silence as Jamie glowered at his dad. “No. I just wanted to... I donno... talk to my old man. I can’t leave you to go talk to one of the boys anyways, so stop bein’ an ass already.”

“Go. Leave.” Havelock’s only reply came amid another spoonful of broth. Jamie harrumphed and his brows knit in frustration. How come only he got the sourdough treatment from his old man?!

Jamie decided he would not leave but sit there in stoic and quiet misery. If Havelock wanted to be as a fussing child, fine. But he would be damned if he would leave his old man laid out in this condition. “Got rocks in your ears, boy? I said go.” Havelock gruffed. “Nothing to see here except a sick old sea dog.”

“And I told you I’m not leaving.” Jamie crossed his arms as Havelock finally looked up from his emptied bowl. “That is that.”

His dad growled again and set the bowl back onto the end table. Then he crossed his arms and leaned back. “Tell Amelia it’s good. Should have her parents make it.”

“Oh now you want to talk!” Jamie raised his voice a bit, snorting derisively. “The Admiral has decided to descend from his anchored throne and—”

“Don’t patronize me boy! All I said was tell Amelia it’s good.” Havelock barked at Jamie’s sarcastic words. “I thought I taught you better than to be a smart ass anyways.”

“And I thought I told you I don’t mind taking care of you when you’re sick or downed, but you’ve never listened to that....” Jamie retorted simply. He knew Amelia and her family was starting to rub off on him if he was making smarmy little quips this consistently.

Havelock looked away, picking up a pot and coughing into it. He was getting worse, Jamie noted as he eyed his father’s back heaving with the effort of expelling whatever was congesting his lungs. The pot was then set down and Havelock had a fresh wan tone to his skin.

“I’m going to bed.” Havelock grunted, sinking back down. There was a strange faint noise emitting constantly from his bed as he adjusted into his blankets—one that Jamie realized was from his father shivering and shifting covers ever so slightly. That was especially not good.

“Don’t bother me.” He added, still shivering very lightly. “I’m tired.”

Jamie swallowed hard. He could leave his old man in peace-- but there was a hard lump forming in his throat. It was all coming back, whether he liked it or not.

Don’t worry about me. I’m just tired.

Jamie started up suddenly from the chair, loudly enough that Farley leaned up to scowl at him. “What the hell, boy. I said ‘leave’ not—”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!” Jamie roared, his chest tightening inside. “You listen to me now—I’m not going anywhere and you’re going to get better!” Before Havelock could retort, Jamie kept on. “And no more of this act! It’s hard enough taking care of you without you having a tantrum each time I try to do... anything...!” A new tension had taken over the room. An emotional tension, crackling with words unsaid and painful memories. “Do you get kicks out of my pain, old man?!” 

Havelock made no attempt to defend himself initially. He seemed almost thoughtful.... almost... in pain. “No.” He finally spoke, a single crumbly word. No. He said nothing else though, and that made Jamie snarl.

“No? Then what reason could there possibly be? I’d like to know!” Jamie huffed and crossed his arms.

“...boy. Don’t make me say it.” Havelock looked down at the floor. Subverting the gaze was not something either Havelock did often— it was very indicative of the sensitive issue bubbling and broiling beneath the surface conversation.

“Say it! I want to know what’s so good that you have to keep making my life hell even now!” Jamie knew he was verging on whining but could not find it in himself to care. This was a topic that made his heart bleed profusely—if he had to run his voice ragged as well to get the point across, he would.

“Don’t! You’re not ready for it!”

“Ready? I’ve been ready since the day I was old enough to walk!”

“YOU’RE NOT READY!” Havelock stormed, sitting up despite the wracking coughs it gave him. “Dammit boy, you’re not ready to sit here, again, and watch your old man become more sick and flail around like a beached fish!”

For two men shouting just seconds ago, the room fell deadly quiet after Havelock’s utterances. Neither spoke or moved and everything seemed to be frozen in this one moment of time. When a voice spoke up gingerly from the door frame, Jamie felt himself startle nearly well out of his skin.

“I think I mixed up something that could help the Admiral.” Cecily stood there, slender hand holding a thin flask. “Isolde helped me make it since Amelia and Tommy are sick as well. With the power of our minds together, we can accomplish many—”

“You have something?” Jamie interrupted, almost too eager for the distraction but not wanting to hear an entire speech about one damn tonic. “Well let’s see it. The old man is as eager as I am to get the hell out of here.”

Cecily shrugged lightly, sensing the tense impatience as she set the flask gently into Havelock’s hands. “Pace yourself, Admiral.” She warned lightly, in her usual monotone manner.

The humor was once again lost on Jamie as he watched his old man down about two gulps of the tonic before pulling up his pot in record speed and retching horribly into it. He heard Cecily snicker softly and rolled his eyes. Was it normal for her family to enjoy the misery of others, or just Cecily being a mean-spirited person in plain sight?

“.....you ok old man?” His answer was more retching. Havelock hadn’t even gotten a quarter of the mysterious tonic down.

“Maybe he won’t need the whole bottle. If he keeps throwing up like this—” Cecily paused to let Havelock get some more violent sounds out. “—he’ll gradually start vomiting blood if he drinks too much more.”

“Blood?!” Jamie made a face of indignant protest at Cecily. “You’re sadistic, Cecily.” What happened to the quiet but still kind little lady?!

“....Science, like magic, has its risks Jamie.” Was all she said as she moved over to pat Farley on the back consolingly.

“.......I won’t... I... augh.” Jamie motioned his hand dismissively at her, then knelt beside his dad’s bed. “You ok now old man?”

Farley was quiet for a bit, with only a spitting sound. “.....If I wasn’t ok I’d say something.” He grunted, voice mostly still scratchy but a lot better than before. “I am not ok.” He added after another pause, wiping his face with a cloth and scowling at Cecily as he handed her back the potent flask of.... tonic. Jamie was starting to question just what was in that flask but decided it was better not to ask.

“See Admiral, don’t you feel better?” Cecily, with all the confidence of a winning general in a war, smiled at Havelock.

“.......yes.” Was the response Havelock afforded to the smiling young lady. She giggled and stood up, saluting the two before slipping out of the room, flask in hand.

“I get the feeling.” Jamie rubbed the back of his head. “That you were a test run.”

Havelock wiped his face again. “I get the feeling you’re right.” He admitted with a quiet sigh. He definitely wasn’t coughing up a lung anymore, and his voice was stronger. The pale tinge to his skin had faded and health colored his face once more.

“Whatever that dirty trick was, it worked.” Havelock stood up. “I don’t feel sick anymore.”

The unsaid words were still there, sparking and awaiting someone to vocalize them. But Jamie sighed, forced a smile, and pat his father’s shoulder. “Guess you’ll be getting back to work then?”

“No.” Havelock shook his head. “Just remembered something though.” He walked past Jamie, shoulders squared. Jamie followed out after him, quiet as can be save their footfalls. It was odd, father and son walking along side one another after bickering so much—the silence was less strange than this in fact.

He followed Havelock all the way to a room the man normally kept locked at the Pub. “.....want me to—” Jamie paused, Havelock’s hand ushering him to wait. “Oh.”

Havelock opened the door and Jamie had to gasp. Inside was a small, simple shrine of remembrance to his mother. Some flowers and a framed picture over a desk in a plain room, that was it.

“It’s been a while yet since I’ve been here.”


End file.
